Reed Between the Lines
by Rosamond Montmorency
Summary: To others, Fulton was strong, scary and a loner. To himself, he was just Fulton. Then he became a Duck, and that's when things started to happen. There WILL be slash, rating changes.
1. Becoming a Duck

_Ooooh! I'm so excited. I'm posting my very first fanfic. No beta reader yet, sorry. The story will follow Fulton through the movies. Basically, it's just my take on who Fulton is and how the events in the movies affect him. I wasn't intending to post it chapter by chapter, but I got impatient, and I know I'm not likely to make big changes in chapters already written, so here is the first chapter._

**Warning:** I see Fulton as gay, so obviously this story will contain slash. No action in this particular chapter, but antiIRONY says Fulton comes out as a gay stalker. Which he is, so I thought I'd warn you:)

**Disclaimer:** Disney owns the Mighty Ducks movies. I don't.

Chapter one: Becoming a Duck

Fulton Reed was sitting in the stands, watching the District Five Pee-Wee hockey team being slammed into the ice again and again by the Hawks, and falling down on their own when they weren't. He could swear their helmets touched the ice more often then their skates. He wished he could be there with them. It made him so angry the way those Hawks treated them, he wished he could skate right up to them and beat the hell out of them, scare them so they never mess with his classmates again. "Yeah, you'll look real tough when you slip on your butt", he told himself bitterly, "They'll be _so_ scared".

They had a new coach again, and he was just as bad as the rest of them. He wished he could beat up their coaches too. The last one managed to kill himself on his own. Which was good, because Fulton was really mad at him by then, and he was a little scared of what he might have tried if he had had the chance.

It wasn't as if Fulton liked fights. He usually liked ending them, and being the biggest kid on the block helped. But sometimes, he got really angry. Sometimes, he got carried away. Every time like that, when he punched out some bully, he felt bad. He never did it front of the smaller kids, though. He didn't want them to think he was a bully too. Not that it helped. "There." he told himself, "Even if you could skate, they wouldn't want you there. They think you're some big bully. Everyone does".

He knew about the rumors at school, about how he only played football. Where would he play football, anyway? There was nothing but hockey in this neighborhood. His dad said there wasn't even any decent hockey, but Fulton didn't care. He liked watching their games and practices. He wished he could have his own skates, but his dad said no. He said there was no future in hockey. He said there was no future for Fulton anyway, if he didn't start improving in school.

So Fulton practiced with what he had. He couldn't skate but he could practice shooting. In an alley not far from his house he kept his hockey stick and some pucks. On the stick the initials F.R. were engraved, but they weren't for Fulton Reed. They were for Franklin Reed. Fulton was glad he found the stick. He missed his brother, but Frankie was in Jail now, and his dad had forbidden him to write.

The pucks he got for helping in the hockey gear shop, which was owned by a Norwegian named Hans. He was nice enough, and he used to know Franklin .It was nice to see that not everyone acted as if he had never existed. Hans even mentioned his mother once, how she bought Franklin his first skates. Fulton didn't even remember his mother, but he was glad she hadn't minded Frankie playing hockey, because it meant she wouldn't have minded him either. Maybe she would have even been proud of him.

So he had found an old trunk to use for a goal, and practiced with all his might. His shots were all hard, but he never hit the trunk the first month he was practicing. Every time he missed he got angrier, and hit the puck harder, and was even less accurate. He wished Frankie were around to teach him. Fulton had gotten better since then, but he still didn't think he would do any good for the team.

"Why did the idiot have to go and get himself in jail, anyway?" He thought as he watched Charlie Conway skating with the puck towards the Hawks' goal.

Fulton craned his neck to watch, hoping to see the team's very first goal. He knew they called him Spazway, but maybe this time he could do it. There were no hawks in his way; all he needed to do was shoot. "C'mon, Charlie", Fulton whispered, and Charlie lifted his stick as if he was listening. Then he missed the puck, tripped and went flying across the ice. Fulton winced.

After the game he waited quietly until everyone left. The Hawks won, but that was to be expected. That's what Fulton thought after every game, but before the games he was always excited, thinking maybe this time something will happen. When the last of the Hawks fans disappeared, Fulton went down to the bench where the District Five team had been sitting during the game. He sat there for a while, imagining the team was there too, and a coach, who was just waiting for the right time to put him in the game. Then, tired of stupid make-believe, he got up and went outside.

Fulton was about to go back to his alley to practice, when he saw some Hawks harassing the District Five team. He recognized them; they were Banks, Larson and McGill, The star and the bullies. No, Hawks were all bullies. They threw Dave Karp into a trash pile. Fulton marched over there, stomping his feet hard on the ground so that they hear his heavy boots beating against the asphalt. It was a new trick he learned to scare bullies. He actually got the idea from a cartoon. He wished he knew how to make his shadow so damn scary too, but it's not as if he could control the sun, right? He picked the Hawks by their coats and threw them into the same pile of trash, making sure they didn't hit Karp, who was staring at him wide eyed. He grunted, and the Hawks scrambled away.

Fulton turned to the team, and they thanked him. He wanted to say it's alright and that he'd look out for them anytime, and he wanted to tell Charlie it was okay that he missed, and that it was still awesome how he stole the puck, but thought better of it. They'd think he was some weird stalker. So he just turned around and walked away silently.

The next game was horrible. It seemed like the new coach had taught them to cheat. Fulton was clenching his fists hard during the entire game. He often did so at games, but he was never this mad. "Because of coaches like him Dad won't let me play ", he thought. Only Charlie wasn't cheating. He saw the coach calling him up to the bench and giving him some instructions. "Just don't, Charlie" Fulton thought, and Charlie didn't. Boy, was the new coach mad. Fulton decided he'd seen enough and slipped out quickly.

Later that week he went up to Hans' to get some pucks and was surprised to see the entire team there with their coach. He went up to the counter where Hans greeted him.

"Hello Fulton. How are you doing today? Have you met Gordon yet?"

"Who?"

"Gordon Bombay, he's the new hockey coach. An old friend of mine."

Hans was about to call him over but Fulton stopped him. "Don't, Hans."

"And why not? Don't worry, Fulton, he's alright. He's buying equipment for the team now, he found them a sponsor." Fulton just grunted and nodded. He didn't like that Bombay guy, but this was Hans, and he was a wise man.

"Why don't you go help Charlie over there" said Hans, and Fulton forgot all about Bombay.

Charlie was trying to pull a stick out of a display. "Yeah, that I can do", thought Fulton to himself and pulled at the stick. It came out and he handed it to Charlie, wishing he had something other then strength to offer.

"Thanks, Fulton" Charlie said, smiling at him. His stomach made a funny flip and he quickly turned and walked out of the shop, forgetting the pucks he wanted to get.

The next day Fulton was shooting pucks again in his alley, after coming back to the shop and getting them. He was thinking about his mother again when one of his shots hit the window of a car. For a moment he thought the driver wouldn't come back for him, but he did. A man got out of the car and Fulton recognized him immediately. It was Bombay, the jerk. Then, he panicked. He bolted back into the alley and started climbing over the fence at the back when Bombay got him. "It was an accident, okay?" he yelled.

But apparently Bombay wasn't mad. He liked his inaccurate shot, and he wanted him to play. Fulton didn't like the man much, but he wanted to play, and if Bombay thought he could, then maybe he was right. A few hours later Fulton was skating down a staircase in the mall, screaming his lungs out and regretting ever learning to shoot. Bombay was giving him tips and directions. The rest of the players were there too, yelling loudly and wreaking havoc, and after a while, when he got a little more comfortable, Fulton decided it wasn't so bad after all. For the first time in his life he felt like part of a team, and he liked that.

And then came the game against The Cardinals. The team was sitting in the guest locker rooms, waiting for Bombay to bring them their new jerseys. Fulton was standing by the door, still keeping his distance from the team. He knew he couldn't really play yet, because his skating was still abysmal, regardless of the little training session in the mall. But coach had said he had plans for him, and at least he wasn't going to sit in the stands anymore. With that thought he almost let a smile escape his lips, but when the coach arrived he quickly stifled it. His place on the team was all about playing the tough guy. Bombay set down the box he was holding, and took out a jersey, holding it up for everyone to see. It had a picture of a duck on it.

The team started protesting, saying that ducks are wimpy, but Coach soon proved them wrong. He said they are noble, he said they stick together and protect each other. And Fulton thought about it and decided he was right. Sure, he didn't even know ducks flew in formation, but it didn't matter. If anyone was a duck, he was one. He's been protecting this flock for years. So when Bombay asked them who's a Duck, Fulton answered. "I'll be a Duck", he said. For a moment there was silence, and then Charlie said: "Yeah, me too", and that was it. They were The Ducks, and Fulton was one of them.

_Well, this is it. I know there isn't anything very new in it( there will be, don't worry), but other then that, tell me what you think. Did Hans come out weird? I think he did, but I can't fix it. Does the lack of dialog bother anyone? _


	2. First Game

_Here it is, chapter two. A little short, and not at all what I planned. Actually, I gave up on a lot of my plans. The story was meant to be only five chapters, but after writing the first chapter I realized that wasn't going to happen. As a result, I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do next. I have the next chapter mostly written, but hardly any plans for the next one. So I might move some bits from chapter to chapter later, or change chapter titles. I'm not likely to rewrite anything._

_Arcadie and Bizarre Bazaar, thanks for commenting on the style, I was a little worried about it. I picked it up from some South-American writers, and I rather like it, but it is unusual for , and it is really a bit similar to watching a movie in fast forward. Besides, my vocabulary isn't rich enough for it, the whole point is using very particular wording. I think I'll be using it for scenes that were in the movies, and write dialogs for my own scenes. And yes, I am slowing down, that is part of the cause for the change of plans._

_AntiIRONY, I did mean him to be gay, and a bit of a stalker. But the stalking part wasn't even my idea: it was in the movies. I didn't mean to be very obvious about it, because he's still just a kid, and actually I still think it is open to interpretation, but I suppose I'll put on a slash warning._

_Daria, dearest, I'm sorry but I won't be putting in whole dialogs from the movies. I wasn't sure about it at first, but I've already made up my mind. So you'll have to make do with my own dialogs… And you don't get pre peeks, I discuss plot ideas with you as it is:)_

_Thank you all for reviewing!

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**Warning:** I see Fulton as gay, so obviously the story will contain **slash**. None in this particular chapter, as far as I can tell(apparently I put in subconscious clues along with the ones I actually mean to put).

**Disclaimer:** Disney owns the Ducks, I don't. I do own any unfamiliar bit of plot.

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Chapter Two: Becoming a Hockey Player(Oh, come on. Being a duck doesn't make you a hockey player, it only makes you a sap!) 

The newly formed Ducks were doing warm-ups on the ice. And those were some really weird warm-ups, mind you. So okay, maybe Fulton didn't quite know everything about hockey, but he was pretty sure footballs had nothing to so with it. Luckily for him, he didn't have to do them, because he was the new guy on the team and everything. Either that, or Coach didn't want anyone to notice he can't skate. He was sneaky enough to think of that, Fulton knew that because he could distinctly remember several games when he didn't have such clean tactics as he had now.

Suddenly Coach Bombay came up to him, and Fulton knew it was time. Bombay spilled a bag of pucks on the ice, and said "Okay, Fulton. Shoot your heart out!" And Fulton did. It was the most amazing thing he had ever done- no angry people when he hits something, and no running to retrieve lost pucks, just shooting and shooting. Fulton felt the adrenaline rising in his body with every shot, multiplying when he hit the goal, and even more when a puck hit the plexiglass, which shattered with a satisfying noise. The ducks were watching in awe from the bench, and so was the other team. "Yes!" He mentally cheered for himself when he carefully skated back to the bench, still feeling elated.

"Go Fulton!" someone cheered. "Amazing!" "That was awesome!" others said, and Fulton felt great. Then Coach smiled and nodded at him, and started talking to the team. Everyone was excited and the pep talk hit them just right. Connie cheered so eagerly when he said the Ducks were undefeated, that everyone just had to do the same, and Fulton had an urge to smile. And then Bombay started quacking, and after the first moment of puzzlement Fulton joined in with the rest. The quacking echoed all around, and Fulton decided it was quite an ingenious cheer. For a moment he felt like he could do anything.

The game began, and Fulton watched as intently as ever, except this time it was his game too. He cheered wildly with the rest when Jesse Hall scored the Ducks' first goal ever, and thought that maybe it really was a new start for the team. That maybe the Ducks were going to get somewhere after all, even if District Five never did. Maybe that Bombay guy was just what the team needed. Everyone was hugging each other, and Fulton was smiling his broadest, which was quite unusual since he hardly ever smiled.

And then there was another goal, and that one was Fulton's. Not that he really scored it, because his aim was too inaccurate to try it when he only had one shot. If he missed it, they would have lost. That was where Coach's "secret plan" came in. The play was simple. It was called "The Statue of Liberty", and the statue was Fulton. The Cardinals were so scared of his shot after that demonstration before the game, they actually ran and hid when he raised his stick! Fulton was used to having that effect on people, but he decided that when it was related to his hockey skills it was much more fun. Then Connie took the puck from him and passed it to Guy, who scored. Connie rushed at Fulton, then Jessie, and then they were all hugging each other and yelling and cheering. It was a tie, the Ducks' first non-loss, which was a funny term but being a part of it made Fulton absolutely euphoric, and to hell with terminology.

Fulton was the last to leave the diner after the little celebration they had, even though he hardly talked to anyone all evening. Only when he was walking home alone he felt that it was quite over, and he was suddenly very tired. He was planning to go to sleep as soon as he got home. When he opened the door to a dark living room, he thought he would.

"Where have you been, Boy?" he suddenly heard a voice ask demandingly. He looked for its source, expecting to find a stern father, waiting with a speech and a punishment. He was surprised to see him sprawled on the floor, with a bottle of something that seemed strong half empty in his hand. His father never drank. Except… "Shit," he muttered. He really needed to write that date down. It was the anniversary of his mother's death. "I'm sorry Dad, I'm sorry I went out. I shouldn't have left you alone," he said.

His father took a swig. "You went to play…you played hockey, didn't you?" he said slowly.

Fulton froze. "You said I'm not allowed to play hockey," he said.

"We never did care much about rules in this family," He chuckled. "Did we, Fulton?"

"What…you're straighter then Jesse and Terry's dad, and he's a cop!"

"'That the bastard who got our Frankie in jail?"

"Frankie got himself into jail."

"He did, didn't he?" He looked at the bottle for a minute, and then put it down. "So did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Play hockey."

Fulton thought for a moment and nodded, wondering if he was going to get punished.

"Did you win?"

Fulton's eyes widened. This wasn't what he expected.

"Tell me, Fulton," his father urged him.

"We tied, Dad. They never tied before. They never scored before," Fulton said, wondering if if they had won he would be fine with him playing.

"I know they didn't. First game?"

"Um...Yeah."

That was the weirdest conversation he had ever had with his dad. But then again, they got weirder every year, so there was surely more to come. His dad got all deep and honest when he was drunk, and that usually freaked Fulton out.

"You bring me a B on that math test, and I'll take you skating," he suddenly announced, and handed him the bottle. "Come on, to your new team!"

Fulton gave him a wary look, and took a small sip. It tasted terrible, worse then he remembered, but he felt sort of warm.

"You're so much like your mother."

Fulton knew this had to come. It did every year. People said Alcohol was supposed to make you forget, but for his dad it did the exact opposite. It made him remember. Or maybe he always remembered, maybe it just made him tell Fulton about it. "I know, Dad," He answered.

They talked about her until Fulton dozed off when his father's speech became incomprehensible from the alcohol and from Fulton's own tiredness.

In the morning, his father's strict façade was back, even though he didn't look very well, but he seemed to remember some of the conversation, because he asked Fulton if he had said he could play. Fulton considered lying to him, but decided that that truth was much better then he expected, so he might as well tell it.

"You asked if I won, and if it was my first game," he said, watching his father's severe expression. "You said if I got a B in math you'd take me skating".

"And I will. But if you don't, you can forget about hockey."

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__Ugh. I hate commas and quotes. I used Kipling's The Jungle Book as an example on how to punctuate dialogs, but if it's still weird, tell me. I didn't have an example of a drunk man, sorry. Next chapter will contain Duck interaction. Brrr... I hate D1 dialogs. I'll post it as soon as I know how to solve all the problems it raises..._


	3. An Independant Opinion

_Sorry for not updating. I seem to be trying too hard to write something, a situation that results in one good poem, five bad poem drafts, an obsession with rhythm and no prose at all. And of course, no prose means no chapter four. So I just thought I might as well publish chapter three for now. I was written ages ago, and I can't bring myself to re-edit it, so sorry for any mistakes. _

_I'd also like to thank Beloved and Daria for reviewing. Actually I should also thank Daria for reviewing this chapter, and declaring it "postable". _

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Ducks!

Chapter Three

Fulton was fine with math, he really was. You don't need to remember much for it, or use smart words, or mind your spelling. Besides, he always passed, which couldn't be said for the rest of his subjects. But there was one hell of a difference between passing and getting a B. Fulton figured he was going to need some help, but who would tutor him?

Arriving in school later that morning, Fulton was suddenly feeling very popular. Ducks kept saying hi to him, smiling and giving high fives as they came in. Now he really didn't feel like messing up that test, or asking for help, for that matter. How was he supposed to tell kids who just started acting friendly towards him that his dad thought he was too stupid to play? Fortunately for him, that particular problem seemed to have solved itself a moment later. Charlie came up to him, smiling.

"Hi, Fulton", he said. "Listen, Guy and I are setting up a little study group for the math test coming up, and I was wondering if you'd like to come study with us?"

"Um, sure." Fulton said, not believing his luck, but also wondering just how much help would those two be.

"Good. Guy's inviting Connie, and she's better then any of us, because she's a girl, you know. Does homework and that sort of stuff." Charlie made a face and Fulton smiled. "And then if we invite Averman, well you know he's a major suck up, I'll bet he's been studying for a week already."

"Yeah, I'll bet he has." Fulton said, relieved. It seemed like a decent group. It was weird how one game changed so much.

"We should start before practice today, at the diner. Three o'clock?"

"Sure."

When three o'clock came and they all met, Fulton soon found out he wasn't the only one having trouble. Guy and Charlie were quite hopeless, and Averman worked them like a drill sergeant, complete with orders and salutations. Guy kept giving Connie, who he usually studied with, wistful looks, but she was busy explaining to Fulton some basic things he missed. She was very nice to him, and Fulton thought she was very nice in general. She had been nice to him even before he joined the team, he remembered, and besides, she was a girl. Not a wimpy one, he has seen her giving Peter a bloody nose once, but she didn't enjoy fighting like the boys did sometimes. That was one thing they had in common, and now there was hockey.

When it was time for practice they all walked together, Averman making stupid jokes and interrupting Guy and Charlie's conversation, which included, as far a Fulton could understand from snippets he heard, aliens, cows and the vice principle, while Connie was grilling a bewildered Fulton on just about any subject that came to her mind. He avoided half of her questions, but she just kept coming up with more.

"I'm sorry, Fulton, am I embarrassing you?" she asked when she finally sensed his discomfort, "It's just that you've been in our class for so long, but I never knew anything about you, and now that we're a team, well I don't think it's right."

"S'alright," Fulton said.

A few minutes later, Fulton was trying to both learn to stay on his skates and hide from the rest of the team at once. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at neither. He lost his balance when Terry tipped him over skating clumsily by. He was a little cheered when Terry, looking back at him with a half horrified and half apologetic look, ran smack into Karp. But not for long, since that of course resulted in a very mad Karp, which resulted, as usual, in a fight. Now just add Jessie to the equation, and you'll see why Fulton was worried. He decided to head over there, but just when he managed to get back on his feet, Guy blocked his way.

"That's _my_ girl you're hitting on." Guy said, in a slightly menacing voice.

"I'm not hitting on no one, man."

"Stop playing innocent. Everyone knows Connie is my girl."

"Yeah," said Fulton, rolling his eyes, "Which is why I'm not hitting on her, you moron."

"Don't call me a moron! Who do you think you are? You just decide one day that you want to play hockey, and suddenly you start stealing other people's girlfriends!" Guy came up closer, yelling.

"I'm not trying to steal you girlfriend, Germaine." Fulton said in a calm voice. He was used to people assuming wrong about him.

Guy pushed him and skated off. Fulton tumbled onto the ice, now quite annoyed. He was counting to ten in his mind when Averman skated over and offered him a hand. "Hey, it's OK. The rest of us would love to do the same, but you're the only one who doesn't get beaten to pulp for trying." He said, smirking.

"I'm not after Connie!" Fulton yelled after Averman, who was already skating towards the coach, who had just arrived.

Averman stopped and turned to look at Fulton. "_Everyone_ is after Connie," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fulton thought about it. Sure, Connie was a pretty girl. She was very nice, too. That was the reason he wanted to befriend her. But that wasn't any different from how the rest of the guys treated her, since they were all her friends. He tried to imagine himself kissing her on the cheek like he'd seen Guy do, but he really didn't see the excitement. Guy had blushed, he remembered.

The rest of the week went by much more quietly. Guy and Connie studied separately from the rest, although Connie was happy to help anyone who asked her at recess. Fulton and Charlie continued practicing under Averman's close watch, Charlie complaining all the time. Fulton was actually glad, because it seemed to help, even if Averman was scary.

Fulton stopped being nervous a day before the test. Not because he miraculously became very smart, but because later in the same day they also had a game, and Fulton couldn't help being excited about it. He managed to concentrate enough to finish the test, and then tuned out for the rest of the day.

Later that day, in the locker room, the team was buzzing with excitement. Fulton was putting on his hockey gear, when Coach came in, looking smug. He informed them that Adam Banks was going to play for the Ducks. Fulton was shocked, and so was everyone else. That was one of the kids who bullied them! Several of the Ducks were protesting out loud, and Fulton decided that if that Banks kid dared to try anything while on the Ducks, there would surely be much more opportunities to put him in his place, somewhere worse then a pile of trash.

The team was agitated by that piece of news, but soon the outrage grew. They were still arguing about Banks, when Peter claimed Bombay had told Reilly, the Hawks' coach, that the Ducks were losers. "Come on, we heard what you said!" he yelled, "You said we were losers, we didn't deserve to live!"

"It's not what I meant," Bombay answered, and Fulton wondered just what else could anyone possibly mean by saying that.

"I saw that picture of you, missing that goal," Peter continued, "You were a Hawk, weren't you? I guess you guys stick together to the end," he said. Fulton was so dazed he barely noticed when Peter threw his jersey to the floor and left the room. A hawk! That explains it all! Jessie and Terry soon followed Peter, and Fulton figured it wasn't going to be much of a game anyway without the Oreo Line. The rest remained, giving each other confused looks and waiting to hear what the coach would say.

But the coach didn't say anything, or at least not anything that mattered. He just went up to the bench, leaving them to decide what to do. They sat in silence for a while, until Karp spoke.

"Well?" he said, "What are we waiting for? Let's get out of here!"

"Yeah," said Goldberg, "I ain't playing for a Hawk!"

"Or with a Hawk!" added Guy, and Connie yelled "Yeah!"

"Ooh! The center! Scared of competition!" Averman chanted, "And the little wife!" The last bit earned him Connie's helmet right in the face. Fulton chuckled. No one in his right mind would call Connie that.

"Come on, guys. We never let him explain," said Charlie, "Let's play this game, and talk later."

"Are you so dumb you need "losers" explained to you?" asked Tammy Duncan, angrily.

"Hey, Charlie ain't dumb! " Fulton was almost surprised to hear his own voice. "Haven't you heard of giving people a chance?"

"It's sort of complicated when they're _Hawks_!" said Karp, and left the room, a disgusted look on his face.

"The guys wouldn't lie to us," said Goldberg and followed, Averman nodding at his tail.

Guy and Connie exchanged looks and followed suit, and Tammy Duncan dragged Tommy out by his sleeve. Fulton made a step to the door before he realized he wasn't supposed to. He looked around the locker room nervously, trying to figure out how could his opinion change without notifying him.

Charlie looked at him and smiled. "Thanks, Fulton," he said. Fulton grunted, looking the other way.

_Have you noticed the overuse of the verb "grunt" in the story? Very Fulton, but very repetitive, too._

_Review, you might inspire me and then I'll be eternally grateful. _


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